yeah baby

I’m listening to Edith Piaf, and I’ve had a couple of glasses of white wine, and suddenly I’m transported to a world full of mystery, romance, and to a café in Paris where the air is redolent with freshly-baked baguettes and coffee, and well-dressed Parisiennes chatter about philosophy, sex, and couture.

It’s time for a poem from beatnik, Diane DiPrima:

Song For Baby-O, Unborn

when you break thru
you’ll find
a poet here
not quite what one would choose.

I won’t promise
you’ll never go hungry
or that you won’t be sad
on this gutted

but I can show you
enough to love
to break your heart

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